


your secrets all in view

by questionsthemselves



Series: steer your way through the ruins [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Avoiding Your Problems is TOTALLY better than dealing with them except all the ways it's not, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Post-Exile, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, but they're both into and wanting what's going on, guys with innies and barbed dicks y'all, sex while under the influence of adult beverages, so fair warning if that's not your thing, yet at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 12:10:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13166640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/questionsthemselves/pseuds/questionsthemselves
Summary: Kraglin brings a squat honeyed bottle of Krymellian brandy to his quarters that night. It’s the expensive shit, fancy frilly stopper and all – probably snagged from one of the luxury ships they’d pillaged, stashed away for something better than a drunken revel.When Yondu opens the door, he almost turns Kraglin away. He’s already a few swigs into his own drink, enough to still the faint tremors in the ends of his fingers. It’s not a quarter as much as he wants.Or Yondu and Kraglin, the night after the exile





	your secrets all in view

**Author's Note:**

> First in a series of sequels to my Yondex fic, wish there was a treaty. Can sort of be read as a stand alone, as a post-exile fic. this series will eventually be yondu/kraglin/martinex, but it'll be a while coming. 
> 
> will probably get the edit it needs in the morning

Kraglin brings a squat honeyed bottle of Krymellian brandy to his quarters that night. It’s the expensive shit, fancy frilly stopper and all – probably snagged from one of the luxury ships they’d pillaged, stashed away for something better than a drunken revel. 

When Yondu opens the door, he almost turns Kraglin away. He’s already a few swigs into his own drink, enough to still the faint tremors in the ends of his fingers. It’s not a quarter as much as he wants.

“Cap’n?” Kraglin ducks his head like he’s trying to make himself smaller, looks up all pinched and worried. He resembles nothing so much as a unhappy bug-eyed potoo bird. It’s not a good look on him. 

“Obfonteri,” Yondu starts, then pauses. What do you say to a man who gave up his whole life for you?

“I brought this,” Kraglin waves his bottle, “An’ I got some of those clove huffer-sticks, too.”

Yondu snorts. “Y’know those death twigs are gonna kill you.” 

He shuffles back grumpily though, gives just enough room for Kraglin to eel in by him. 

“Survived the smog on Knowhere,” Kraglin says, unperturbed. His faint air of unsurety is fading in face of Yondu lack of hostility. “Don’t think a little smoke’s gonna do me in before the stars do.” 

Stubborn bastard. He’s always been that way, ever since Yondu met him, scrounging and thieving out of some back alley ooze of hovel on Knowhere. Oh, he’ll nod and yessir and grin that bland little grin. But if he’s got that head of his set on something, nothing can budge him.

The slam of the door sliding shut behind them is just enough to rattle the trinkets on their shelves. Yondu’s got a good collection now, taking up the entirety of one wall and half of another. His favorites rotate, get to cling determinedly to his control console until they’re traded out. 

It’s probably about time to put in a maintenance request on that door, before something actually breaks. Assuming there’s still enough of maintenance left for them to have time for non-essential requests. Better check the roster tomorrow with Kraglin, figure out where their biggest needs are.

Not tonight. Yondu scrubs his hand over his eyes. Tonight is for drinking until he can’t peel himself off the floor. He sprawls on the bed, gives the ratty furs a couple pats. 

“C’mon,” he slouches back into the shaggy cushions, tucks his hands behind his head, “Gimme the first swig.”

 

It’s half way through the night cycle by now, and they’re both sprawled flat over Yondu’s furs. The room smells like cloves and cheap gin, the last of Yondu's bottle spilled across floor.

“You’re hot like a damn furnace,” Yondu flops onto his belly, something antsy itching and spiking under his skin. All the sharp broken ends in his mind are softer now, but he can’t relax, can’t stay still. 

He’s almost on top of Kraglin now. The skinny git’s stripped off the top half of his jumpsuit, and Yondu can practically feel his ribs through the worn-thin cotton of his undershirt. Although Yondu would probably get half-naked too, if he put off that much heat.

“Dun’ understand, why’re you s’hot?” Yondu slurs, going a little cross eyed as he pokes at Kraglin’s sides. It’s abnormal, is what it is. No one that bony should make that much heat. Kraglin makes the strangest little meep, drops the cold end of his huffer stick and half curls away with a “M _ticklish_ , no-o.”

Oh, really. 

Yondu smirks. Kraglin immediately seems to realize his mistakes and starts flailing clumsily. flops like a landed fish to get away from Yondu’s hands. Yondu, having a good sixty odd pounds on him, and no compunctions about fighting dirty, means it doesn’t take a minute before he’s got Kraglin pinned and both hands dug under sensitive armpits. 

“Gonna promise me a unit, or I’m not gonna stop,” Yondu pauses long enough to make sure Kraglin’s heard him, starts right up when Kraglin shakes his head. 

“Fine,” Yondu makes sure Kraglin can see his smirk, “c’n do this alllll night.”

“N-n, wait–sir–“ Kraglin can barely force words out through his wheezing, “I give, I give.”

Yondu stops, settles back triumphantly. “Damn right you give, ‘cause I’m the captain, ’n I always get my way.”

“Yessir, cap’n, sir,” Kraglin’s voice is just a hint of mocking, his blue eyes delighted. Yondu stares down at him, something warm and tight twisting in his chest. 

Would’ve been what he deserved, if Kraglin had spoken another word to him that wasn’t a challenge. Would’ve been better for him, if he’d done his duty, lifted him up to captain’s rank. Yondu wouldn’t have challenged. He’d have the support of the Code, of a hundred Ravager factions.

It would’ve been easy.

“Krags…” Yondu stares down at him, lets his hands settle on Kraglin’s waist. The council hadn’t believed him. Stakar hadn’t believed him. _Martinex_ hadn’t belived. The one person that he’d always thought he’d come back to in the end. If he’d wanted more, asked for anything, Yondu would’ve given it to him. But Martinex had kept the Ravager code, followed his Admiral. 

And Kraglin hadn’t. 

Yondu shifts, lets his hands slip down so he can brace himself over Kraglin. The jut of his hips jab into Yondu, so he shifts himself back, says again low and husky, “Krags.” 

Kraglin’s face shift through confusion, wariness, realization dawn quick and bright as a sunrise in his eyes. Kraglin’s warm beneath him, so warm, and when Yondu squirms he can feel Kraglin’s cock through his jumpsuit. He’s hardening, and Yondu moans, lets his hips roll back into him. 

He’s probably gonna regret this in the morning.

He starts moving against Kraglin more deliberately.

“Ah, sir,” Kraglin pupils are swallowing up his eyes, breath coming quick and trembling. His narrow chest’s heaving like he’s running lengths around the Eclector,pulse fluttering in his throat. “Sir, wait– we should–“

But then Yondu’s kissing him, drops to one elbow and tilts his head until he can press his mouth hard to Kraglin’s. Kraglin keeps his lips pressed together for a moment, but then he melts like wax under flame, pressing and trembling up into Yondu.

“Y’kiss better now than when I first recruited you,” Yondu pulls back, grins as Kraglin cranes his head up with a keen, “Been practicing with some pretty young things?” 

Kraglin’d only been just pushing up on eighteen when they’d met, gawky and gun-shy and determined to prove his worth. One too many jabs about his age, and Kraglin had grabbed him, clumsily mashed their mouths together. It’s one of the reasons Yondu had decided to take him on, that streak of nerve in him.

“Yondu,” Kraglin whines, starts mouthing along his jaw, letting just the tips of his teeth nip press into the delicate skin. Pain sparks along his nerves, and Yondu wants more.

“Or maybe,” he adjusts enough that Kraglin can latch onto his neck, suck hard enough to pull a blue-black bruise to the surface. “Pretty young things ain’t your type. Maybe your type’s pretty n’ blue.”

Kraglin growls into his neck, surges up into Yondu’s body and flips him, and _fuck_ yes. This is what Yondu needs.

“Yeah, thassit,” he starts pushing his pants, shoves them down past his knees, “C’mon Krags, gonna fuck me good, fuck me until I can’t think on anything but you?” 

Kraglin paws at Yondu’s hips, pushes a hand between Yondu’s legs. He pauses, blinking down at Yondu befuddled when he registers what he’s packing - or rather, what he’s not. 

“‘M Centaurian, ’s standard fer us,” Yondu pushes down a little impatiently, “gonna be a problem?”

Kraglin moans, slides two fingers roughly inside him. 

Guess not. 

It stings, even as wet as he is, and Yondu shoves himself into the edge of pain. It’s _so_ good, Kraglin filling him up, crowding every dark and howling in thing in him out. He claws at Kraglin’s jumpsuit, slurs, “Don’ need more, g’t in me, _now_ Krags.”

Kraglin’s cock is perfect inside him, thin and long, rough little barbs that scrapes against him aching and sweet every time Kraglin pulls out. He’s slow, careful, like he’s waiting for Yondu to tell him to stop, and it’s not enough. 

“C’mon, _harder,_ fuck,” Yondu bucks, squeezes down, “that the best you c’n do? Mebbe I should go find somebody else if–“

In one movement Yondu’s flipped, rolled over. Before his alcohol soaked mind can process he’s pinned on his belly, Kraglin fucking back in deep with a growl. He ruts forward hard enough to send Yondu sliding up the bed, until he has to brace hands against the wall. 

“Thassit, _fuck_ ,” Yondu arches, drops his head down limp when sharp teeth fit themselves over his spine. It feels right to be held like this, fucked until pain and pleasure spill sweet through his veins. 

Kraglin doesn’t take long to come. He buries himself in Yondu, twitching forward, until Yondu squirms in frustration and throws a pointed elbow back. Kraglin murmurs slurred apologies against his skin, worms a hand under Yondu, works him until he comes. 

They sleep like that, Kraglin still buried inside him.

 

 

Everything hurts. Yondu buries his head deeper into the dark, snorts a little to get whatever’s tickling his nose – hair? He gropes blindly for the hangover hypos filled with blessed relief but his hands close on nothing. His pillow starts to move, and Yondu squeezes his eyes shut, grumbles into it. It’s entirely too early for this, whatever it is. Thank goodness no one’s expecting him on the bridge today. Certainly Kraglin will take care of anything–

Wait. Kraglin.

Yondu’s eyes blink back open. Did Kraglin stay? Easy way to figure that out. Yondu opens his mouth enough he can nip at whatever’s underneath him with metal-capped teeth. There’s a shriek, and then Yondu’s dumped off his pillow onto the bed. He moans and flails arms up to wrap around his aching head.

“If you’re still here,” Yondu grits out between clenched teeth, “You better get a goddamn hypo in my thigh before I whistle y’through.”

The bed stills, then creaks in protest as Kraglin shifts and reaches over Yondu to pull up a hypo. A hiss and pinprick of pain later, Yondu’s headache finally starts to fade, and he rolls himself onto one side. Kraglin watches him with wary eyes, sheets scrunched up between his fingers. 

He looks like he’s waiting for Yondu to yell threats, chase him out the room at arrowpoint. Yondu refuses to regret a goddamn thing, and if Kraglin’s having them? He’d better have them somewhere away from Yondu

“Don’t get your socks in a twist, Obfonteri,” Yondu resists the urge to flop back down until the world fades to black again. “Was just two people blowing off some steam and working off stress together. Don’t go making a thing outta it.” 

Because that’s all it was. Working off tensions, helping each other unwind.

Kraglin starts to open his mouth, looks like he wants to say something more but the look on Yondu’s face must stop him.

“Okay,” he says simply, and crawls over Yondu to slip off the bed. 

“I get first dibs on the washroom,” Yondu yells as he coils protesting muscles, pushes himself to stand. “Start a pot of brew while you’re waiting.”

Kraglin mumbles something indistinct and vaguely cantankerous under his breath, but the clink of the brew machine starts up anyways. 

 

The hot water feels good splashed against his aching face. The corners of his lips are still bruised and cracked, and Yondu touches them. They had hurt the most, more than the chain on his wrists, or the each word dropped in verdict. Stakar’s hands had trembled, pulled it a little too tight.

Something hard and knotted catches in his throat. Aleta hadn’t stayed, after his sentence. Her face… Yondu had never seen it that incandescent. She hadn’t come near him. 

His chest throbs. He must have done something to bruise it last night. That hypo had been in his system for damn near ten minutes though, why wasn’t it fully working? 

Yondu braces himself over the sink. Whatever’s going on, he’s needs to pull himself together. Kraglin’s waiting, and there’s crew to recruit and job boards to–

But no. They can’t use the Ravager system anymore. They’ll have to search the general merc boards, look for those not picky or not curious enough to ask too many questions. It’s not gonna be easy though, explaining to clients why they’re Ravagers not going through Ravager channels. 

Fuck Stakar. Fuck Stakar, and Aleta, and Charlie-27 and Martinex–

Yondu slams his hand into the wall. 

“Boss?” Kraglin’s alarmed face pokes itself around the wall, eyes narrowing when he takes in Yondu’s fresh scraped up knuckles. “Here let me–“

“Fuck off,” Yondu snarls, cradles his hand next to his chest, “Just a scratch, Obfonteri, don’t need you poking your nose in where it don’t belong.”

“Boss,” Kraglin ignores his scowl, the way he lets his implant glow threateningly, “Lemme wrap it up at least?”

Fine. If Kraglin’s got that much of a bug up his ass about it.

Yondu sits down huffily on the bog seat, stares at the wall. He doesn’t look at Kraglin when he shuffles through the cupboard, pulls out medistrips. He doesn’t look at Kraglin when he gently holds bruised blue hand in his own, when strips wraps themselves around his palms and wrists. 

“There,” Kraglin creaks to his feet, joints already protesting in a way no young man’s should. Way he moves now, he probably start needing replacements for the major ones in under a decade. “Brew pot’s probably finished by now, you want it sweet, right?”

Yondu nods. “Better be strong enough t’stand a spoon in.” 

He flexes his hands, pleased the bandages don’t make it that much harder to move. Look pretty neat actually, the black wrapping his hand up like a ring fighter. 

The cup is still steaming when Kraglin hands it to him. Yondu blows on it gently, before upending half of it straight down his throat. Hopefully the caffeine will take care of the rest of what the hangover hypo didn’t.

Yondu breathes in deep, shuffles through the pile of clothes to pull out his leathers. By the time he’s buckled into them, Kraglin’s zipped into his own. Downing the last bit of brew, Yondu pastes a smirk on his face, pushes back his shoulders. 

“Let’s go make sure th’crew didn’t manage to fuck anything up too badly.”

The door slides open with a sound of protestation. Yondu takes a step out of the cabin, another, with Kraglin just behind, at his back. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love and motivation x


End file.
